and the clustered faces enclosed in that fading bulb of light of which the torch was the centre, and beyond the cedar boughs. The torch flame was reflected tinnily in his eyes. "Gimme a knife, I can't get it off," the man at the boot complained peevishly; " it's all stuck up and I can't get it off." Another man pushed him aside, and began cutting at the leather. The man who had been working at the boot raised his o\vn hands into the torchlight, covered with blood and muck, and with an expression of distrust and solicitude inspected them, as though they, too, were wounded. "I think-----" Benton Todd said, somewhat tiredly, not looking at the men, " you better try to stop it." They were putting a belt around the wounded thigh, which was now naked. The blood welled out of the small puncture there, and flowed darkly, but glintingly, over the white flesh. They drew the belt as tight as possible, and they packed handkerchiefs on top, and under the wound beneath, where the bullet had entered. Two of the men had taken off their shirts and were tearing them into strips. The handkerchiefs soaked up the blood, soggily. "Bent, Bent," Mr. Munn called, leaning. "Hey, Bent! Listen here-----" Laboriously, Benton Todd directed his gaze upon Mr. Munn. Then Benton Todd moved his lips, dully. "That blood," he said, " it came out of me." Mr. Munn could not remember what he had intended to say. Benton Todd's remote, incurious, gnomic gaze withdrew, left him, sought again the darkness of the cedar boughs above. Benton Todd bled to death while they leaned over him and watched him. They could not stop the blood, which seemed to well prodigally and inexhaustibly from that small aperture. One of the men held his hand to Benton Todd's chest. He straightened up, and said, " He's a goner." He looked at Mr. Munn. "All right, aH right," Mr. Munn rejoined, as though irritably.